Gene Hunt, Voice of Reason
by BollyKnickers
Summary: Alex is struggling to come to terms with her parents' deaths for the second time around, and Gene steps in to help. For the Alex Drake Ficathon @ LJ. Some Galex. Un-betad cos I just wanted it to be up!


**Gene Hunt, Voice of Reason**

**A/N:** This is a one shot I've written for the prompt given for the Alex Drake ficathon at the bollyknickers comm on LJ. It was written for jaynedancing, from the prompt of a Winston Churchill quote (which I hope I have used sufficiently!). Although a lot of it is from Gene's POV, I figured it's still based around Alex, so I hope it's okay. It's weird; it's usually my Alex!Muse which co-operates fully, not my Gene!Muse, so idk what happened there! This is set after episode 8, so spoilers for the whole of s1 pretty much.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Ashes to Ashes. I'm not Kudos or BBC, sadly!

-

The days ticked by after the day of Alex's parents' deaths, each day less important than the one before. She couldn't actually find it in her to find the motivation to get up in the mornings, and Gene had taken to calling by the flat on his way in to work, knowing that if he didn't his DI wouldn't get in until lunchtime, if she turned up at all. After a week of doing this, Alex began to wonder if part of the reason she wasn't getting up was just because she looked forward to the brisk, slightly nervous knock on her front door every morning. There was something altogether very soothing about knowing that someone needed you. It was partially what she missed about having Molly around.

Molly had not appeared to her at all since the explosion. Not only did Alex miss her desperately, but not having her there pointed towards there being no way back, no way out of 1981. Alex didn't want to admit it, but she was feeling more and more like the chances were she was already dead. Perhaps nobody had found her, and she was lying at the bottom of the canal right now, being eaten away by fish and god knows what else.

It wasn't a thought she liked to dwell on. And, to be honest, with the amount of alcohol running through her blood, there wasn't much time - or inclination - for thinking.

Everyone had noticed the changes at work, most of all Gene Hunt. It was becoming too easy. Part of the connection he had with Alex, more so, part of what made her so god damn irresistible to him, was the fact that she always had an answer to everything, always had a comeback, always had to start an argument. She was incredibly intelligent, there was no doubting that, but what brains she had were matched equally by her insanity. He hated to admit it, but he was starting to miss her crazy remarks and ridiculous theories.

It was a Thursday morning, three weeks after 'the incident' with the Prices, and Gene was standing on the top step of the stairs round the back of Luigi's. He had already hammered on the door once or twice, and having not received any response, had gone to find the Italian owner, and borrowed the spare key. Now, however, he couldn't bring himself to put it in the lock. He couldn't explain it. Any other time, and he'd have happily kicked the door in. But he couldn't. He was becoming increasingly worried about Alex. Any hint of the woman he'd known – or at least thought he'd known – had disappeared along with the several bottles of wine in the cupboard under her sink.

Finally giving in, he pushed the key into the lock and turned it, easing the door open. It stuck a little, and he made a mental note to get Ray to see to it.

"Bolls?" he called, his voice gruff.

There was no reply, and he let himself in, closing the door behind him, and heading towards the bedroom.

Alex was still in bed (as predicted), an empty bottle of wine on her bed stand, another on the floor beside it. She was asleep, by the looks of things, and Gene let out a soft sigh. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, he leant across the sleeping woman, and gently – hesitantly – reached across, his fingers brushing her soft, curly hair where it fell across her cheek. She looked so peaceful and carefree when she was sleeping; he was reluctant to wake her at all. Sighing again, he gently shook her shoulder.

"Bolls?"

She groaned, but made no move to open her eyes, instead waving her arm about, and finally accidentally hitting Gene with it, right in the eye. He felt his temper build, but he knew he couldn't get angry with her. She didn't know what she was doing; she'd buried herself in glass after glass of wine, or so he guessed from the empty bottles. She'd lost it, didn't see things clearly any more. To her, downing two whole bottles didn't seem like a problem. Grief did that to people sometimes. He himself should have known that.

"C'mon Bolls, I'm not leaving until you show some signs of life," he muttered, shaking her again.

Alex rolled over to avoid Gene, pulling the pillow over her head.

He wasn't going to give in to her stubbornness, and, as he had so many times before, he scooped her up off the bed and carried her into the living room. She didn't make it easy; kicking at his legs and pounding on his back with balled fists.

"Why couldn't you just leave me alone?!" Alex, now slightly more awake, heaved herself off the sofa where Hunt had deposited her, and began to pace.

This was the Alex he was used to. Marching around his office as if she owned it, temper flaring up in his face. Change her clothes into a pair of tight jeans and an off-the-shoulder top, and it might as well have just been another day.

Gene stared at her. He didn't want to say anything, knowing that if he got angry with her he'd just regret it later. She was parading around in her silk nightdress, her curls loose and damp with sweat, face clean of make-up. He thought he preferred her that way. Less 80s. Leaning over her when she was sleeping, he'd been able to see the scattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose, usually covered by make-up.

Her eyes rested on the floor.

"I can't leave you. Look, I know what yer going through, okay?"

Alex's head shot up and her eyes met his squarely, "No. No you don't "Gene". You don't have feelings at all."

She was back to waggling her fingers when she said his name, he noted. It was as infuriating as it was the first time she'd done it, but he was relieved. Part of the old Alex – _his_ Alex, dare he say it – was back.

"Jus' cos I don't flounce around showin' my feelings like a big bloody Jessie, doesn't mean I don't 'ave them!" he barked, grabbing her by the shoulders just to stop her from making another lap between the sofa and the TV. It was driving him mad watching her.

"No! You know what, Gene? You don't get it at all. YOU'RE. NOT. REAL."

That was it. He could tell it was the alcohol talking now. He let go of her, visually reeling from her remark. It hurt, even if it wasn't _really _Alex saying it.

"Listen to me Bolls. You take yerself back to bed, and see who else bothers to come and check on you. You see whether Evan-Bloody-White pays a call. Cos I can guarantee that that bastard won't. 'e's not interested now that you've good as told 'im you ain't gonna drop your posh-French-knickers for 'im. I'm the only one who cares. I'm the one who turns up 'ere every mornin' to make sure yer okay. So don't you bloody tell me that I don't 'ave feelin's."

Alex glared at him, hands on her hips, "Oh come off it Gene! You're only here because you think that me turning down Evan means you're back in with a chance. Well I'll tell you something else. You and I? Never. Gonna. Happen."

Hunt's blue eyes blazed. He wasn't going to let her see how much she was hurting him. How much seeing her here like this was killing him inside. He bit his tongue, contemplating leaving. He knew that wasn't a good idea. There was no way he was going to get any work done with all this playing on his mind.

"Alex…"

She was taken aback by his use of her actual name, and the tone of his voice. It wasn't often that he actually referred to her as 'Alex' and when he did; it was usually because he was angry with her. And she'd certainly never heard that kind of softness in his voice before. She shook her head. She couldn't let him get to her. She had to get home to Molly. Had to find a way. _Oh yes, because drinking yourself into oblivion, THAT'S finding a way home, isn't it? _She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not going to let you do this to me Hunt. I've got to be strong… got to get home to Molly. I have to tell my subconscious that I am in control. Not you," she was muttering now, not looking at him directly in the eyes, "I will get home. I'm strong enough. I _will_ fight."

Before she knew what was happening she was sobbing, her legs suddenly not strong enough to support her weight. She sank onto the carpet, tears streaming off her cheeks. Gene instinctively wrapped his arms around her, her head resting on his chest just as it had in the vault, all those months ago.

"Courage," he whispered, "is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."

Alex gazed up at him with wide hazel eyes, "Winston Churchill."

"Yeah."

"It figures you'd be a fan," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Mmm. Look, Bolls. Take Churchill's advice, and listen to me will yer? Someone's gotta tell you. You can't keep doing this. I know you 'urt. Believe me, I know. I've lost enough people in my life to know exactly 'ow you feel. But drowning yer sorrows ain't gonna 'elp anyone."

Alex laughed, a soft, bitter sound, but a laugh nonetheless. One which made all the hairs on Gene's neck stand up.

"Who'd have thought it," she murmured, "Gene Hunt, the voice of reason?"

"You'd best not tell anyone. Don't wanna ruin my reputation now; make Ray and Chris think I'm goin' soft."

She laughed again, and Gene felt a genuine smile form on his features. Letting go of her, he watched her get to her feet, but stayed where he was. He didn't have the energy for this.

"Go, get dressed, come into work. And you'll feel better. I promise. Take yer mind off it?"

Alex nodded and headed out, towards her bedroom. She paused as she reached the door, and turned back, coming towards Gene and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, before disappearing into her room.

**- the end.**


End file.
